Torment

A Poem About Bearing the Weight of Clarity

There are those rare, uninvited moments when the fog lifts and we see something clearly. At first, we might imagine it as a gift, but clarity doesn’t always set you free — sometimes it shows you the walls of confinement that you built for yourself.

The blessing and curse of seeing the path ahead is that it can sometimes be accompanied by the weight of responsibility. Even when it is only a glimpse, that realization can bring along it’s own sense of burden. And still, something in us walks forward anyway, pulled or pushed by some force that feels difficult to name.

This poem was borne of that feeling — of knowing what follows, and choosing to continue anyways. Because, for better or worse, there is always… hope.

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Torment

I entered this labyrinth of my own volition.
I took the first step.
No one forced me to enter.
I did so because of hope —
relentlessly enduring hope.

All I could do was run.
And yet, I knew there would be no escape.
But hope… there was always hope.
Another turn. Another hallway.
Another discovery… but always, I’d forget.

Even the doors are traps.
They lead to somewhere new,
tempting a flicker of belief in salvation.
But I know what follows me.
I know it all too well… as I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.

It’s why I built this place to begin with.
I had to. It couldn’t be let out. It’s too dangerous.
I laid the grooves. I set the stone.
This is my doing. It’s my responsibility.
Day by day, habit by habit, I built it.

I built it from innocence and ignorance,
not knowing which was which.
Once the foundation hardened with walls in place,
the path had to be followed.
It seemed there was no other way.

But hope. Always hope.
Hope that there might be a way.
Hope that there is something to return to.
Hope that this monster, born of longing, can be 
redeemed, and become more than what it devours.

Some days I forget entirely, and collapse.
I huddle into the corner of a wall,
trying to recall the weightless warmth
of my mother’s arms before I knew who she was.
Before these walls. Before remembering.

But hope persists. Clinging.
Just around the next bend. Relentless.
It pursues me. Hungry. Insatiable.
I dare not unleash it. It’s too dangerous.
It must be protected. Guarded. Always.

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